To her mother's last suggestion Yuki replied, "I fear not, mother. The only idea of arrangement they have in America is to get many different flowers together, chop them to the same length of stem, and push them down evenly into a shapeless vase with other flowers painted on the sides." "Ah," said Iriya, crestfallen and surprised, "we shall not then adopt the foreign arrangement." The mother and daughter clasped hands, swinging them as children do, and moved along the narrow veranda. They were now skirting the closed shoji of the dining-room. In turning the corner, the plum-tree came into full sight. A hundred blossoms must have opened since the dawn. Yuki broke from her mother with a cry, ran to the tree, and threw her arms about the great trunk. "Oh, you are the most beautiful tree in the whole world!" she said aloud, and looked with adoration up into its shining branches. As Iriya reached her, she lowered her gaze. "Do you remember, mother, that morning four years ago, when I went away, how I clung to this tree last of all, sobbing from my heart the poem that my father taught me?-- "Though bereft and poor, I in exile wandering Far on mount and moor, Happy plum beside my door, Oh, forget not thou the spring." "I remember well," said Iriya, and drew her daughter's outstretched hand to her cheek. Something shone suddenly in Yuki's eyes. "And I wept so passionately that father, half in tears himself, came and entreated me to cease. He said that if I shed more tears upon it, his tree, like that of Michizané, might rise through the air and follow me to exile." "Yes," smiled Iriya; "often have I recalled it in the time of spring, standing under this tree alone." "It really did follow me after all, you know," the girl went on shyly. "It came at night, in dreams, when you and father could not miss it. Did it ever fail to return before the dawn?" "No," returned Iriya, with deep gravity. "The dear tree loves us also. Never once did it fail to return." Tetsujo strode toward them from his study. "How can one ponder on the classics, with pigeons cooing beneath his very eaves?" Yuki clung to him. "You had the classics for four long years when I was away." "So had I water through those four long years, small pigeon,--yet while I live must I thirst. The classics feed deep wells of the soul." He put a strong, loving hand about her, and drew her near. It sprang into Yuki's mind to speak now of her foreign friends, to ask permission to visit them or, at least, to send them her Tokio address. Pierre's beautiful face and blue eyes reproached her. But this moment was too sweet for jeopardy. She pressed her cheek against the rough blue cotton of her father's shoulder. Iriya, stealing nearer, put also a loving arm about the girl. The sunshine made a halo for the three. The plum, loosening its first petals, sent them down in fragrant benediction.